


Concupiscent Reveries

by Kicker



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Late Night Conversations, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smoking, Smut, Swearing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kicker/pseuds/Kicker
Summary: John Hancock has been travelling with Trixie de Villeurbanne for a few weeks, and his impure thoughts are getting out of control. But he's just a humble ghoul, and she's the much-loved General of the Minutemen. She couldn't possibly be interested in him.Could she?





	Concupiscent Reveries

The summer of 2289 was a scorcher. The sun burned down from a cerulean sky, bright and hot and _really_ goddamned bright, that cannot be stressed enough.

John Hancock was not having the best of times. A few weeks before, he'd agreed to go back out onto the road as the travelling companion of the General of the Minutemen, Trixie de Villeurbanne. It hadn't been a difficult decision; a few things had gone down in Goodneighbor to make him question his position as Mayor. Was he really doing it for the people? Was he exploiting his position, up there in the Old State House? Was he becoming the kind of tyrant he himself despised?

Then just at the right time, she breezed in with the offer. _Come on the road with me,_ she said. _It'll be fun,_ she said. _We'll bring justice to the people and, like, hang out and stuff._

_Sure,_ he said. _After you._

So out they went onto the road, the Mayor and the General. They hitched tents in the shade of ramshackle buildings, they broke bread (or snack cakes or whatever the hell they could actually find) by firelight, they slept back-to-back under the stars.

Back-to-back.

Ass-to-ass.

And _what_ an ass it was.

It was the kind of ass that could have taken up his every waking thought if it weren't for the rest of her distracting him. It was the kind of ass that can only be described in hand gestures, like this... yeah? You see? Just like that. Perfection. It was the kind of ass that he'd just like to sink his teeth into, but in an appreciative way rather than a blind feral rage, if you feel me.

(Though to be fair... it was a very good ass. No tellin' what he might do if he got carried away.)

But, she was way out of his league. So as much as he might have liked to grab a hold of it, realistically? It was never going to happen. Far more likely that she'd go for one of her other pals or confidants. Cait, maybe. Feisty, beautiful, always ready for a party. Danse, perhaps. Great hair, another great ass, shame about the bigotry and film of armor grease but an ass like that can hide a multitude of sins.

Or.... Garvey. Preston Garvey. Good, noble, beautiful smile. Hancock could see that one happening.

"General," he'd say. "A moment?"

"Sure, Preston," she'd say. "Anything for you."

"Anything?" he'd say, with just the slightest hint of that smile, enough to disarm but not overpower.

"Absolutely," she'd say, breathily.

"Even," he'd say, "a kiss?"

"Anything," she'd reply, already angling her face up toward his.

Then he'd cup his hand around her jaw and press a long, deep kiss onto her soft, soft lips.

"Oh, John," she'd say, which would be odd because that ain't his name.

"Oh, General," he'd reply.

"John," she'd say again, more insistently.

(Hold up.)

Hancock blinked. For a brief moment he had no idea where he was but the buildings were bombed to shit so, still the Commonwealth at least. Sky hadn't changed, still bein' unconscionably bright. And Trixie was still walking beside him, 'cept now she was slowin' to a stop in the middle of the road and looking right at him.

"Wow," she said. "You were miles away."

"Yeah," he replied, scratching the back of his neck with a guilty smile. "I guess so."

She patted him on the shoulder, and laughed. They continued on for a few minutes before she asked the obvious question.

"So... what were you thinking about? It was obviously very distracting."

He took a few more steps, then treated her to one of the finer examples of his widest mayoral grin. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She responded with an equally fine and wide general...al. istic? smile. "I asked, didn't I?"

"Well," he started, intending to continue with something like _you locking lips with your second-in-command. Tongues battling for dominance, breathy imprecations bein' whispered into the hollows of each others' mouths._

On reflection, however, that sounded a little... creepy.

"Ah, it was nothin, really," he said, and kept on walking.

Silence fell. Well, except for the tramping of their feet, the buzzing of whatever the hell insects were lurking in the trees, and that constant Commonwealth background audio of poppin' gunfire.

"Man," she said, pulling her blouse out from her chest and fanning herself with it. "It is hot as hell. I am sweating my ass off over here."

"Can't relate," he replied. "You know, the whole ghoul thing."

She laughed, and shot a glance over her shoulder at him, a wicked gleam in her eye. "I bet I could make you sweat."

At that point, somethin' in his brain stopped working, which just goes to show what happens when you overcook a ghoul. Of all the perfectly good answers he could have produced - I'd like to see you try, let's go over there behind that tree and try right now - is that the kind of thing he said?

No.

"It's my skin," he said. "No pores."

She stared at him. "Huh," she said, eventually. "Okay. Sure. Well, the settlement's a way off still. I guess we'd better keep moving."

 

~~~

 

Hancock's feet hurt, his legs hurt, and he was dying for a hit of jet or something or other to take the edge off. And that was probably a good thing cos if he'd had long enough to think about anything else he'd have been in trouser trouble too. That whole thing with Preston was escalating and escalating until the Minutemen's finest (bar one) had got her pressed against some hard surface or other and was calling her ma'am, for whatever reason.

Not just any hard surface though. Something... more interesting. Something you'd find in a venue of ill-repute. A pool table. Yeah, that'd be nice.

"Ma'am," he'd say.

"John," she'd reply.

(Ah man? Again? Already? I was just gettin' into this.)

"We should think about holing up somewhere for the night," she said. "We could probably make it to the settlement if we went real fast but I... just can't be assed. Here looks pretty good though."

Hancock looked around. They were in what looked like a fairly unfashionable part of the old city. Nothin' over three floors, a few faded advertisments pasted to the walls of buildings, couple bus stops. Didn't seem that great but it did seem pretty quiet.

"Okay," he said. "You're the boss. Sure this place is safe?"

"Yeah," she said, scrolling through some stuff on her Pip-Boy. "I came through here with Preston a while back. Just a few raiders that were easy to scare off. There's like, literally nothing left here supply-wise but it's well sheltered. I think there was even some working air-con, in one place. Hang on."

She consulted the device a little longer, then pointed over the other side of the road. "Over there," she said.

The place she'd chosen for their bivouac, or whatever you call it when it's not outside, was a bar. Kinda Third Rail-esque, except without that damp cloud of cigarette smoke and stale jet that sticks to the inside of your nostrils whether or not you got the whole protective nose thing going for you. Just that kind of odd feeling of a place where people had once been and now weren't. Not even the usual piles of dried up old bones.

"Nice place," he said. "Spooky as hell."

"Totally," she replied. "We'll have to sleep with one eye open. Don't want the ghosts getting us."

Hancock didn't have much time to think on that, his attention bein' drawn away by a large piece of furniture over the other side of the room. A huge, almost-pristine pool table, in pride of place. It was under a set of green-shaded lights that weren't lit, obviously, but must once have shed a real nice hazy glow over the place and the players.

Hancock let out a low whistle. "Nice table," he said.

"I know, right?" she said, walking around it, trailing her hand over the polished wood.

(Heh. Wood.)

"Oh yeah," she continued, approvingly. "I remember this."

"That so?" asked Hancock. In his mind, the vision of Preston took off his hat and tossed it over behind the bar.

"Uh huh," she said. "I absolutely wrecked Preston on this table."

The vision flipped to one of her tossing away his hat, curling her fingers around his collar, and pressing that curvesome body against his.

"Oh," said Hancock, faintly. "That... so?"

She looked blankly at him. "Yeah," she said. "I was in the local league. I won, like three years in a row. I mean, I'm a bit rusty now, but if you rack 'em up? I'll knock 'em down. You ever played?"

"Sure I have," he said.

Hancock didn't own a bar for nothin', you understand. There was once a pool table, albeit a runty undersized one, out in that back room in which you're now more likely to find a sulking merc named MacCready. But it had caused too much fighting, and gettin' the first one down the stairs had damn near killed both Ham and Charlie. So the day a mouthy Gunner got himself bodyslammed right _through_ the table marked the end of the Goodneighbor pool league, before it had even begun.

Still. He'd learned how to work a cue and he'd never been short of ideas for things to do with a handful of balls, so when she asked him to play, he agreed.  
  
The game was slow and patient, not least because she seemed to have to do a whole lot more bending over the table than he thought was strictly necessary. He was hardly going to complain about the view, even if it did mean he needed a bit more thinking time. It all came down to a couple of balls and a hard angle.. He stood back, thinking through the shot and willing himself to concentrate on it. If he could just keep his mind on the table he might be able to get a shot off the cushion...

She leaned down low, affording him a clear view right down to her brassiere.

"Pass," he said. "Fold. You win. I concede."

"You can make it," she said.

"Nah," he said. "I can't reach that far. Not got the reach for it."

"John," she said. "Come on. I've only got a couple inches on you and I could make it, easy. You just gotta get creative. I'm sure you're flexible enough."

"I'm stiffer than you imagine," he said.

"I doubt that," she replied, with a smirk. She sidled around the table and pressed her hands either side of his arms, moving him gently to one side.

"Look," she said. "This is your angle."

By this point, Hancock was a little more inclined to lie on the floor under it and wait for the sweet release of death than take the shot. But as a ghoul he'd probably be waitin' a while for that one, so let her go on.

"Take hold of the shaft like this," she said.

"Spread your fingers like so," she continued.

"And control your stroke by swinging from the elbow."

Hancock let his head droop forward. "Come on," he said. "No fair. How's a ghoul supposed to concentrate in the face of such distraction?"

"Go on," she said, laughing. "Do it."

So, he did. Fumbled the shot so bad the cue ball almost escaped the table altogether.

"See?" he said. "Never had a chance."

He dropped the cue on the table and turned around to find her right there. Her eyes were dark and warm and the cutest little smile turned up the corners of her mouth. And she was close. Real close. So close she had to be able to tell what was threatening to happen in his below-belt area.

"Look," she said, brushing her hand over his lapel, lifting her eyes back up to his. "You've got chalk on you."

This seemed intolerable to his heat-addled mind. The poor girl had no idea what her innocent gesture was doing to him. It would surely horrify her to know.

"Well," he said, trying to back away, finding only the solid heft of the pool table right behind him. "I guess we'd better turn in for the night."

"What a good idea," she said, not moving.

"Long day tomorrow," he said, in a slightly higher-pitched voice. "Don't want to be over-tired."

She stared at him for another of those long moments. "Yeah," she said, eventually. "Okay. Sure. Let's... do that."

 

~~~

 

There followed a restless night of tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling bein' acutely aware of the warm body just a few feet away from his own. And in the morning it seemed like she hadn't had such a good time of it either, sporting a fine pair of dark circles under her eyes.

Hancock rolled her a can of purified and nodded his good-morning.

"You look rough," he said, helpfully.

"Yeah," she said, stopping the can as it bounced back off her knee. She scratched a hand through her hair. "Thanks."

She seemed a little slower to react than normal, and those dark circles under her eyes really didn't look so healthy.

"I ain't kiddin'," he said. "What's that Pip-Boy sayin' about your rad count?"

She let out a long sigh, and strapped the device back onto her wrist, staring blankly at it until its screen lit back up. "Fine," she said. "I can probably leave it a while. Though I guess I never know where the next mouthful of rads is going to come from."

He grinned. "I got one for you right here."

Now ordinarily she'd grin back, laugh, maybe throw back something equally crude. But this time she just sighed, shook her head, and set about repacking her stuff.

They hit the road and fell into the usual companionable silence. 'Cept it weren't as companionable as it usually was, and was a whole lot more... silent.

"Y'alright?" he asked, after a couple miles of this.

She let out a long sigh. "Yeah."

Well. He didn't need a dose of mentats to discern that that weren't exactly true.

"Something' I said?" he asked.

No long sigh for that one, but a long enough pause to indicate a similar sentiment.

"C'mon," he said. "Don't keep me in the dark."

"I could say the same to you," she said.

"Not sure I catch your meaning," he replied.

"Ah, fuck," she sighed. "Alright. Let's do this now, out on the road. Why not. Straight talk. You're blowing hot and cold and not in the fun way. I don't know if I'm coming or going, except obviously not the former."

He didn't have an answer to that, so he let her continue.

"You're my favourite person in the Commonwealth," she said, with a quick glance over at him. "I honestly can't imagine anyone I'd rather spend the night in a deserted and possibly haunted bar with."

"Hey," he said, "Thanks. If nothin' else, I'm good for scaring off the ghosts, right?"

She turned away, then, and looked on down the road for a moment.

"And that," she said, "is what I'm talking about. It's all about the jokes. You're too busy trying to get your witty retort in to listen to me, to hear what I'm really saying."

At that, Hancock felt a little ashamed. It was true. He'd always gone the comically self-deprecatory route because he probably didn't deserve to even be in her company, not with the things he'd done, the things he'd let happen. He made his crude little jokes because it made her laugh, and he loved to see her happy.

And it was the only way a ghoul like him was going to get that bright smile turned on him, after all.

Right?

But he knew what that meant. It meant he was being selfish. If it was botherin' her then it was botherin' her. And Hancock was damned if he was gonna accept being anything other than the model travelling companion. He'd support her, he'd respect her and he'd listen to her, damnit.

_And,_ he added as a further exhortation to himself. _No more lewd fantasies._

_Not full-length ones, anyway._

She was still talking when he zoned back in.

"If you don't mean it that's fine," she was saying. "And I don't mind if you do and just don't want to do anything about it. I just... want to know where I stand."

"Alright," he said, carefully waiting for her to finish speaking before he started. "I'll dial it back, you know, give you a break. I know I can run my mouth, speak before I think, et cetera. I should be more respectful of you, you being a General and all. So, like I say. I'll be the model of respectability, starting right now."

She paused, her mouth just a little open, before closing it with an almost imperceptible sigh. "Fine," she said. "Deal. Let's keep moving."

 

~~~

 

Now. Right about now, you're probably havin' that whole sense of standing behind a glass window, poundin' your fists against it and silently yellin' _Hancock, you dumb son of a bitch. Are you high? What in hell's name are you thinkin'?? Listen to the woman!_

He can't hear you. Not yet, anyhow. Sorry.

The settlement that they'd been heading to was half a farm and half an industrial park. One side was spread thick enough in fertilizer for even Hancock to be able to smell it, the other dark and clammy with grease and ash. The whole place was flooded with bright orange lights that, once night had fallen, seemed to burn brighter even than that hot summer sun.

Between the two halves lay a communal living space, divided up into rough cubicles by leaning pieces of wood. A couple of mattresses had been dropped on the floor. Zero privacy but pretty damn luxurious, by Hancock's reckoning.

Trixie seemed less impressed.

The day's negotiations involved a lot of math and even more arguing about the precise amount of scrap a brahmin could be expected to lug. When the discussion went on to resting times and the precise dimensions a stable would have to be to allow for comfort while not taking out too much of the mutfruit crop, Hancock's eyes had glazed right over.

You know exactly where he went.

The pool table was hard behind his ass, and her thighs soft and warm against his. A pair of bedroom eyes blinked slowly at him, and a hand stroked gentle over his lapel.

_Huh,_ he thought, in a rare moment of perspicacity. _That ain't even a fantasy, that actually happened._

She turned her face up toward his, brought her lips up right close. "John," she whispered.

(Damn it.)

He blinked. "Yeah?"

Several pairs of eyes looked up at him from the negotiating table.

"Uh," he said. "You. Said something?"

Several pairs of eyes continued to stare without indicating any kind of response, negative or otherwise.

"I... didn't say anything," she replied. "But you know what? We're not getting anywhere. Can we pick this up again tomorrow? I think we could all do with a rest."

The guys around the table exchanged nods, and don't think Hancock didn't notice the couple of sly glances that were darted his way. But they agreed to call it off for the night, and folded up their folders, and packed up their packs, and ejected both him and her out into the orange-tinted night.

Outside, she nudged her elbow against his. "Thank you," she said. "I thought we'd be arguing about brahmin shit all night."

And he felt guilty again, because he still hadn't been payin' attention to her and here she was thanking him for it. "You know you can always rely on me for a distraction."

She smiled, but it was a thin smile, the smile of a woman who needed some cheering up.

"So," he said. "The night is young. Actually, I have no idea what time it is. But that over there looks a lot like a bar, which is the exact kind of R&R that you look like you need."

"I don't know," she said. "I guess I am pretty thirsty after all the talking."

All the while she was stood right close to him, those warm eyes settled on his. They were just close enough that it'd only take a shuffle of a foot to be able to slip his arm around her waist, nice and easy. They were just close enough for her to lean down a tiny way and plant a kiss on his lips, if she were so inclined.

Just then, one of the guys slammed his way out of the negotiating room, clearly having gotten the worst of whatever debrief had just gone on in the room.

(Heh. Debrief.)

He barged on past Hancock, turning back for a quick glare before trippin' away into the distance. By the time Hancock got back his balance and looked back, she was tapping away on her Pip-Boy, frowning all the while.

"So," he said. "Bar?"

"No," she said. "I need to think, not talk. Let's just turn in."

 

~~~

 

It was around 2 am when your words made it through the ether, across the timelines, into the facet of the multiverse in which he was resident. After a fitful couple hours sleep, he found himself lying flat on his back, wide awake, staring at a single bare bulb hanging from a wire drilled into the wooden ceiling.

He tried to send himself back to sleep with his usual soothing thoughts of her (thoughts, not fantasies, and definitely none of the complicated full-length pieces) but they didn't bring him no joy. They seemed crude and childish in comparison with that one moment in the haunted bar, with her eyes full of warmth and love and her hand pressed soft on his chest.

"Wait a minute," he said.

"Now, hold up," he continued.

Then he sat bolt upright, slapping his hand against his forehead.

"God damn," he said. "Hancock, you dumb son of a bitch."

He looked over at the mattress beside him. Not a little bit of him was hoping that she'd turn to him, all groggy, and say something like _what the fuck are you yelling about, I'm trying to sleep here_ because she was kinda cute when she was angry. And at least he could get it all over and done with quick like.

But the mattress was bare.

He sprung up and dragged his clothes back on. Her Pip-Boy was lying over by the pillow, so she hadn't gone far, that was for sure. And he knew enough about her to guess where she might have ended up.

So he headed out and over to the bar. It was a rough wooden shack only about double the size of the cubicle, and not even much larger than the negotiating room from earlier in the day. Over behind the counter, a heavy-set heavy-bearded gent was leaned right back in his chair, fast asleep with his arms folded high over his chest.

But Hancock didn't care much about him. He cared about Trixie, for real like, and there she was sitting at a table alone. Her chin was propped up on the palm of one hand, fingers tapping on her own cheek, while the other hand was occupied in glumly scratching the label off a solitary bottle of beer in front of her.

He crossed the room and sat down beside her.

"I," he said, "have been one dumb asshole."

"What's new?" she replied, with a quarter-smile.

"I been too wrapped up in havin' the last word, in makin' you laugh. I have not been listenin' to you."

She pushed the beer away from her. "Go on."

He stared at the bottle for the moment before dragging his eyes away. "You said some things," he said, slowly, "that suggested that you might potentially think of me as more than a friend."

"True," she replied. "But you don't sound too confident about that."

He took off his hat, put it on the table, not a little flustered by her admission, and trying to find the words to explain himself. "I'm just a humble ghoul. You're... well. You're a god-damned full-fledged goddess."

She turned on her seat, then, hitched one foot under her knee and leaned in close. "I am not," she said, urgently. "I'm a person. I bleed, I cry, I fuck up just like anyone else. What I like... what I _love_ about you is that's exactly how you treat me. Not like a I'm a fragile object to be protected, or a useful resource to be exploited, or an embarrassment to be tidied away. You treat me like _me_. Trixie de Villeurbanne. Do you know how rare that is?"

"Yeah," he replied. "As a mayor, a ghoul, and a junkie? I know exactly what that's about."

Time slowed, silence fell, and they leant in for the kiss. The next few moments were all soft lips and warm breath and a very, _very_ faintly whispered _oh John_ that made him feel far giddier than he'd ever admit.

"So," she said, eyes fixed on his. "What do we do about this, now?"

"Well," he said. "I had been having some... rather more impure thoughts than normal."

"Uh-huh?" she said, her fingertips just tracin' up the edge of his jaw.

"And I guess you might have been havin' some of the same," he said.

She didn't say nothin' but she nodded, and smiled all the way into and through the next kiss she bestowed upon him.

"But we probably shouldn't rush into anything," he said.

"That cubicle's got no privacy," she murmured, her hand just seeking out the inside of his thigh.

"I know," he said, "Everyone would hear."

"Everyone," she agreed, and he couldn't quite be sure if it were a threat or a promise.

Her hand had risen high enough up his thigh for Hancock to have to suppress a gentle curse. Then she drew it back, her fingers trailing down his inseam, and that didn't make it no easier to hold in.

She blinked. "But I do really need to make this deal work. Let's cool it for now, right? Wait til we get somewhere with more... privacy."

He knew it weren't graceful to grumble an agreement to something like that, but he weren't quite capable of forming a word, let alone a sentence.

"Trust me," she said, her voice barely a breath in his ear. "It'll be worth the wait."

 

~~~

 

Somehow, next day she was bright and breezy and whistlin' cheerfully as she strapped on her General's regalia. Hancock was half-inclined to think he'd imagined the whole conversation and thigh-rubbing incident, 'cept for when she paused at the doorway.

"Come here," she said.

"Yes ma'am," he said, dropping his hat and crossing the room.

She frowned, momentarily, then shrugged. "You're cool with this, right? Hanging on? It's going to be a long day."

He grinned. "Well," he said. "You know. I might have to slip away, get myself a little, ah, light relief."

"Don't you dare," she said. "If I have to suffer, so do you."

Her mood continued jovial; she seemed to be really telling the guys where they could stuff their mutfruit if they didn't want to treat their brahmin properly. In fact they all seemed a little dazed, enough that they were the ones to call a break for lunch. She and he headed out to share a couple of cigarettes behind a broken down building, warm red bricks radiatin' the heat of the earlier part of the day.

"So," she said, casually, propping her foot up against the wall. "Those 'impure thoughts' you mentioned. What do I do in them? Out of interest."

He grinned. "Pretty much everything."

She raised her eyebrow. "Everything? Thats... a lot."

"I got a vivid imagination," he said. "And that's even before I get the mentats out to make it sound intellectual."

"Wow," she said. "Have you been writing it down or something?"

"No," he said. "Why, you think it'd sell? Hey, we could get Piper to print it out on her press."

The laugh that came out of Trixie at that point was quite something. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it, but a couple of settlers tending to waxy-leaved mutfruit turned to look over dirt-stained shoulders. She coughed, put on her serious General face, and leaned back.

"She'd sooner burn it to the ground," she said.

"She don't have to know about it, right?" said Hancock. "I know you've got a key. Get her a front-row table for Magnolia's next soiree, boom. Short run, limited edition. People'd go wild for it."

"God," she said. "Imagine if Maxson got his hands on it. He'd have a stroke."

"Yeah," replied Hancock. "Probably of himself."

At that point she took a little face journey; first a little bit of shock, with her eyes open wide. Then a kind of thoughtful consideration, which made Hancock a little nervous considering the subject. Then a great wide smile crossed her face, and she covered her mouth to quieten another laugh.

"Oh, John," she said. "I just never had you down as a writer."

"Well," he said, "I ain't. I don't know much, and what I do know wouldn't be such fun reading. Most other subjects ain't so fun to research. This one, though..."

A little smile twitched up the corner of her mouth. She reached out to slide a hand under his coat, just shifting her weight enough to start to push him round toward the wall. "I suppose," she said, softly, "it's hard to describe exactly what it feels like to be backed up against a rough brick wall..."

"General de Villeurbanne?" came the call.

She stopped in her tracks, and let out a measured sigh. "... until you've done it."

She lowered her head to rest on his shoulder, just close enough that her hair prickled his cheek. If he'd had much of a sense of smell at all he might have been able to wax lyrical about the scent of her pomade but that'll have to be left to both his and your imagination.

"Come on," said Hancock. "No fair. Are you trying to sabotage my respectable Mayoral demeanor?"

She rolled her eyes and held up her hands. "I know, I know. My bad. I'm suffering too, you know."

As they headed back into the room of negotiations, he sidled up close. "I've done the wall thing plenty, by the way," he said, trying to hold back the smirk, sure that he had the upper hand.

She leaned in close, her eyes flicking down at his lips and back up to his eyes.

"Not with me, you haven't."

_Ah, hell._

 

~~~

 

Signatures were scratched onto papers that were carefully enclosed in folders, then wrapped in more folders and tucked into her pack about as well protected as the stash of whisky in his. Then finally - finally - they were on the road again.

"Couldn't get out of there soon enough," she said, once they were out of earshot.

"You get a good deal?" he asked.

"I have no clue," she replied. "But they seemed pissed off, so I guess so."

"What? And here I was thinking you were in control of the situation."

She shrugged. "I'm no businesswoman. But apparently I sound like one. I'm sure Preston or someone can go back in there and sweet-talk some more out of them."

"Oh? He got that ability?"

"He can be very persuasive," she said. "The man has something of a silver tongue."

"Oh," said Hancock.

"What?"

"I dunno. Sounds... cold. But interesting."

"Perhaps. But it's still not the tongue _I'm_ interested in."

Their eyes met. A meaningful glance was exchanged.

"Maybe," she said, slowly. "Maybe we should take a break."

"Just a little one," agreed Hancock.

"Not for long," she said. "We need to get to proper shelter by nightfall. Right?"

"Exactly," he said. "But we could just find some shade for a little bit. It is awful hot out here. I worry about you."

Somewhat fortuitously, by the side of this part of the road lay an old cafe. The windows of the joint itself were totally blown out and the floor was littered with shards of broken ceramics, but the place had a fairly intact garage on the side of it. It had long-since been stripped of anything of value but what it did still have was a rather nice (and solid) set of bare brick walls.

Now ordinarily he'd have been the one to get things going, the one to flip the first button with a wicked grin, the one to back her up against the wall and make good on some of those late-night promises. But even though she'd made her feelings quite clear in that same conversation, a little part of him still wasn't quite sure that a ghoul like him could _really_ be that lucky.

Besides. The smile on her face indicated that she was more than happy to take the lead. And everybody likes to be treated a little rough once in a while. Am I right?

(I may not be right. But go with me on this, for his sake.)

She pushed him back against the wall. His hat hit the brickwork first, pushing forward and down over his nose. He grabbed it, quick, pulled it off. Felt kind of disrespectful to the office to drop it to the ground altogether but... needs must.

_She_ must.

As it hit the ground she planted a heavy kiss on his lips that could have knocked the socks right off him if he weren't wearing his boots, and if that were a thing that actually happened. He lifted his hand and twined his fingers in her hair, noting a broad smile and a certain inhalation of breath that suggested something that might be worth exploring at a later date. But it was no time to think about that, not with a tell-tale pressure below his belt as she flipped open the first button of his pants with a single deft movement. He knew he should reciprocate in some way, but she was kinda leaning on his best hand and you know what? He was rather enjoying himself.

After a couple more buttons were defeated she took him in her hand, with the kind of gentle touch that has you half blind and wanting more even if you can't say it out loud.

"More," he said, diggin' deep to find a voice cos it's always good to give feedback.

The world kinda disappeared, replaced in importance by the hot breath on his cheek, the murmured nothings in his ear, and the gentle hand just finding the right kind of rhythm to get him going.

Then she stopped.

Now all this time, at least while he'd still been able to hear anything over the hammering of his own heart in his ears, there'd been that old backing track of footsteps and buzzing and gunfire.

That gunfire was a little closer than he remembered.

Awful close, in fact.

Trixie took a deep breath. She lowered her head. Then she stormed right out into the road.

"What the _fuck_?" she yelled. "Seriously?"

"Woah woah woah," said Hancock, fumbling to do his pants back up, struggling somewhat due to the delicacy of his situation.

"For fuck's sake!" she continued, raising her arms to the sky. "What is this, some kind of conspiracy? Come out here so I can kick your fucking asses!"

Growling at his own failure to dress himself, he darted out into the road. With one hand on his pants and the other reaching out for her arm, he fell to his knees, dragging her down along with him. Bullets pinged off the opposite rooftop. Wasn't quite a right-through-the-space-her-head had just been thing but his heart leaped in his chest about as much as if it had.

"What in the hell?" he said.

"They interrupted," she hissed, wild-eyed. "I've had e-fucking-nough of interruptions."

"I know, love. I'm..." he said, shifting awkwardly. "Yeah, I know. But... really? Running out into the road? Leaving me there with my pants down? That's kinda rude."

She lowered her eyes, practically faceplanted onto the concrete. "You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. Let's just. Get rid of these assholes and find somewhere actually safe to... yeah."

 

~~~

 

The fight was a fairly short one, the chem-addled raiders taken somewhat by surprise by a pair of fools in old-timey military costumes, one of them with more than a little death in her eyes and both of them with really large shotguns.

They carried back on down the road, headed more toward the west than from where they'd travelled to get to the settlement. So, not back to that somewhat eerie but cool old bar, and not back to the big old pool table in the middle of it.

Hancock allowed himself a brief moment of regret about that, but with her arm tucked through his and her soft voice in his ear, it wasn't a long one.

(Heh.)

Before long they came to a decent-sized old house that was mostly intact, all cream-painted balconies and shuttered windows. After a bit of recon, and another check of that Pip-Boy, the oracle of 'what did we kill to clear this out and how angry are their friends likely to be', she nodded at him. _This will do_.

Conscientious of the potential to be taken by surprise, the pair resolved to make sure the place was locked up tighter than a... well, let's not be too crude here, a very tight thing. It wasn't exactly an impenetrable fortress, this ain't the Castle we're talking about. But it would probably do, with a few precautions.

Hancock took the front of the house, while she went out back. He tossed a mine or six out in a circle around the front before going back in and slamming the door shut. The lock was shot to pieces, obviously, so he wedged it shut with a chair and dragged a rather charming old telephone table in front of it too. After a moment's thought, he padded through into the kitchen and dragged another couple of chairs out to bolster those defenses.

Hands on hips, he contemplated his work. Not bad. It'd do, anyhow.

But when he went out back, she was nowhere to be found. Not her pack, not her, not nothing.

Odd, but alright.

He headed on up the stairs, hopping over a couple of shattered steps and moldering scraps of carpet. At the top, a gentle breeze came in through a half-shuttered window, the sun still really goddamned bright where it made it through. He squinted at it, only mildly irritated, and turned to observe the hallway. There were three closed doors, one of them just slightly ajar. Hedging his bets he pushed it open and there, indeed, she was. Standing by a window, tapping on her Pip-Boy.

Buck ass naked.

"Oh," he said, not even trying not to let his eyes rake over that body of hers.

"There you are," she replied, dropping the device on the windowsill. "You sure took your time."

He let out a low whistle. "Apparently so. You did block the back door before gettin' all _au naturel_ , right?"

"Of course," she said. "You did the front, right?"

"Sure," he said. "Locked up tighter'n a... real tight thing."

She smirked, lifting her finger and beckoning him over. "So what are you complaining about?"

"I ain't complainin'," he said, crossing the room and sliding his arm around her waist, feeling the heat of her skin, and the dampness collected in the small of her back. "Just, you know. Maybe a little disappointed I don't get to unwrap this particular gift."

"Well, you know," she said, sliding her hands under the lapels of his jacket, just pushing it back with her thumbs to indicate that she might be about to push it off them. "I just wanted to make sure that my intentions were clear..."

He shrugged his shoulders to make that de-frocking happen a little faster.

"That you were, uh. Hearing me," she continued, sliding it off his arms, dropping it to the floor in a somewhat unceremonial fashion, and starting to work on his shirt.

"Loud and clear, sunshine," he said, pressing her up against the windowframe. "Loud and clear."

 

~~~

 

There ensued a brief exchange of _so where were we, I believe you had your hands in my pants, you wanna pick up where we left off?_ And I mean, well, _obviously_ he did; but with one hand now grabbing a good handful of that ass and the other tracin' patterns over her chest, he figured the game had changed enough to let that slide.

"Get over there," he said.

The bed had an actual mattress on an actual frame that squeaked rustily as she backed herself up on it, _seriously_ luxurious. She'd laid a bedroll out over it already, and her hair fanned out over the pillow part as she lay back.

"Look at you," he said, "All laid out for me like this. I don't even know where to start."

(Of course he did. John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor, knows what he's about in the bedroom.)

He lavished attention and praise on her until she was practically purring at him, soft and relaxed like putty in his hands. He finally came down to settle himself down between her legs, hooked his arm around her thigh, a thigh that was just so soft and warm and _right there_ he couldn't help but sink his teeth into it. Gentle, like, but enough to have her gasp and lift her head up off the bedroll to look down at him.

"Don't you worry," he said, brushing his cheek up against it. "I ain't feral yet."

He reached up to stroke his hand down her stomach, just letting the pad of his middle finger slide over her clit, rewarded by another of those little intakes of breath. He grinned to himself. With his tongue and with his hand, sometimes both of them, he brought her to the brink, all appreciative moans and arching back and quivering thighs.

It was a beautiful sight, he had to admit. Totally given over to him, totally at his mercy. For a moment he thought about stopping, making her wait, making her beg, making her say _John, please, I need it, I **need** it._ But that seemed unfair given how long she'd been waiting, how long the both of 'em had been waiting. So he doubled down until he had her hips rising up toward him and her fingers scratching over the surface of the mattress, and a perfect moan of satisfaction escapin' her lips.

After, she lay back with her hand over her eyes, her breath coming hot and heavy. "Oh my god," she said. "Oh my _god_."

He grinned again, moving up to to drop down next to her. He rested his hand on her chest, part to let her know he was there, but mostly to feel her heart beatin', make sure it was real. She turned her face to his, her eyes warm and hazy as if she'd just had a hit of jet.

"Y'alright?" he asked.

She nodded and laughed again, still with her hand rested on her forehead.

"You just tell me when you're good to go on," he said. "No rush."

"Oh I'm good," she said. "I'm _good_."

There followed a lil bit of tumblin' that ended with some fairly complex entangling of limbs and his dick pressed up against her in a way that wasn't so far from getting him off all on its own.

"'fore we go any further," he said, stroking a strand of hair out of her eyes. "You... maybe wanna take a hit of Rad-X. Protection, you know."

"Oh," she said. She raised her eyebrows. "Oh. You weren't kidding about that. Okay, hold on."

She disentangled herself, hopping up and off the bed to bend down over her pack with just a cheeky little bend to her knee and angle to her hips that made her look like one of those lewd magazines you find every so often under raider bedrolls.

Hancock reached down and gave himself a stroke or two, not that he was in danger of losing the hard-on that seemed to have lasted a solid week or two by now.

"Hands off," she said, amused. "That's mine right now."

She came back and straddled him, her thighs spread wide, poised just above him. She leaned forward and dropped another of those sweet kisses onto his lips, while guiding him into position. He lifted his hips at about the same moment as she lowered hers down, sinkin' and bein' sunk deep inside her in a manoeuvre that made them both let out an appreciative curse.

They locked eyes, just enjoyin' those moments of only the gentlest motions as they acclimated to one another, like they were both committing the moment to memory in fact. And you know full well  _he_ was.

She fucked him hard but slow, too slow, so he grabbed hold of her ass to bring her onto him harder, faster, seeking that sweet release that he knew would be sweeter than ever because it was with her. And when it came he saw God, if God were a perfect creature of soft skin and glorious curves and damp hair sticking to her cheeks, still pinned on his dick with a huge smile on her face.

(God comes in many forms, after all.)

(Heh. Comes.)

She rose up off the bed and the half-light gleaming out from behind her, warm and golden and softened by the gauzy fabric hung over the windows, didn't do much to dispel that illusion.

"Fuck me," he said, panting.

"Again?" she said. "Already? That another side-effect of the ghoul thing?"

Despite himself, he laughed. "You don't know the half of 'em."

Rather than go to another round rightaway they fell to talking, drinking some of that whisky from his pack, working out exactly how long they could get away with staying on the road, where they could stop off _en route_ back to the Castle with those precious folders. Hands started to wander, exploring, a real good gettin' to know you session. And so they continued, in a slow and languorous fashion which was far more appropriate given the lingering heat of the day.

After another glimpse of God, this time sprawled alongside him with her cheek on his thigh and wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, Hancock (once he'd finished cursing) felt a tell-tale tickle down the side of his face.

She turned back around and dropped down beside him. She pressed her fingers against the side of his face, drawing them back again to show them to him. Wet.

She grinned. "Told you I could make you sweat."

"Well, that ain't usual," he said. "And look at me. I can't even move no more."

"Gosh," she said, lifting his wrist and giggling as he just let it fall, as if paralyzed. "Better get you some water, revive you."

"General de Villeurbanne," he said. "Is this some sordid plan to overthrow me? Incapacitate me on the road and claim Goodneighbor for yourself?"

"No," she said, pressing her hand to her chest in mock horror. "What an awful thing to say."

"Oh, I'm not complainin'," he said. "I'd rather this than the usual modes of attempted assassination. If I do survive, you promise you'll try this way again?"

She just laughed and slid off the bed, heading over to her pack and extracting a can of water.

"General de Villeurbanne," he mused. "That name really is one hell of a mouthful."

"That's nothing," she said casually, handing him the can. "You should hear my maiden name."

He gave her a quizzical look, so she leaned in close and told him what it was, damn near causing him to spit out the mouhtful of water he was tryin' to drink. "For real?" he sputtered. "Good god. You shoulda kept that. Changing that... that's criminal!"

She laughed out loud and drained the can, tossing it aside to clatter over the floor in her characteristically carefree (if untidy) way.

"Come on, pet," he said, patting the mattress beside him.

She came to lie there, resting her hand over his chest. Whether the sweat that quickly started to gather between their skin and trickle down over his ribs was his or hers he didn't know and didn't much care.

"I get that it's a term of endearment," she said, after a moment. "But I'm not a pet. I'm not a housecat. You can't put a collar on me and expect me to come when you call."

"Aww," he replied. "There goes my idea for the second date."

"Well," she said, thoughtfully. "That's not out of the _question_. What I mean is... I know what I like. I'm not afraid to ask for it, and I'm not going to hold back or be anything I'm not. You'll do the same, right?"

"Like I said," he replied. "I got a vivid imagination. I got _lotsa_ ideas. And we got a joint publishing venture to work on, right?"

She fell back on the mattress, letting out an amused sigh. "I just hope none of them involve enclosed spaces. I get real claustrophobic."

~~~

 

from the desk of John Hancock  
© Publick Occurrences Press 2290  
(not authorized or sanctioned by the owner of the aforementioned)  
any resemblance to people either living or dead is _completely_ intentional  
please place all fanmail in the comment box below

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is a request I received over on [tumblr](http://kickerwrites.tumblr.com) for a bit of nsfw Hancock. 
> 
> requirements were: longish, some cute Hancock moments, and the expression of certain impure thoughts. not sure if this is entirely what was expected, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. ;)
> 
> NB this is the same sole as in another of my Hancock fics, [What Goes Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7284469). I didn't name her there but this just seemed a perfect opportunity to reprise her and tell the story of how they embarked upon their beautiful happy, healthy relationship.


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